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Chapter 1 : Unidentified Flying... Spoons?
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Thankyou to sambaz4! She is actually amazing
Beautiful chapter image by .showmetheLOVE at tda♥ I love it ;]
"Jesus Christ, Mollie, hold still," my sister, Rebecca, growls as she works the scissors over my curly, blonde hair, trying to update the plain cut into one that she picked out in a magazine. "Do you want to look like you've repeatedly shoved your hair through a paper shredder?"
"But I'm bored!" I whine as I fidget again in the stool in front of my desk, my back steadily becoming wetter from my hair. Rebecca gives me that 'move-again-and-die' look in the mirror which, if you don't obey her, usually leads to you ending up with a bruise on your arm. I stop, sighing heavily. "Do we have to do my hair, too? Aren't the clothes and make-up enough?"
Yeah; asking my sister why hair matters? Probably not the smartest idea, even for me.
"Mollie; I think I may just have to kill you," Rebecca says pleasantly before correcting herself. "Well, first, I'll make you hot and then I'll kill you."
"Cheers, Rebecca," I reply dryly. "Really; cheers."
She rolls her eyes in response, before continuing to cut my waist-length hair into something that falls just below my shoulders. I have to stop myself from wincing every time a chunk of my hair drops onto the carpeted floor, even though, every time Rebecca sees these looks, she dutifully reassures me that it is going to look great and that I should trust her.
But, then again, this is the girl that rolled me around in purple paint which, by the way, stained my skin for three weeks, for rearranging her favourite Barbie's hair into a Mohican.
Well, I thought it looked cool.
"But, I got to admit, baby sis, shopping was alright with you," Rebecca says. "You almost know your stuff."
Well, for that I have got to thank those magazines I flicked through when I was bored. Which was all the time.
"I know." I smile smugly and Rebecca wipes the scissors on a nearby towel before placing them carefully on the desk in front of me.
"All done, smelly," she announces cheerily. I scowl at her for the 'smelly' comment but usually in these situations it's best to ignore her, so I stand and inspect my head from the back. Rebecca had also added what looked like layers into my hair that was now the shortest I've ever had it, falling just below my shoulders.
"Now, you can dry it by doing your whole magic thing.”
"How many times have I told you I can't do it out of school till I'm seventeen?" I snap, annoyed at how slow my sister is, as I fluffed up my hair.
"Oh yeah, at 'Beauxbatons.'" Rebecca waves a hand, her tone bored.
"No, at Hogwarts," I correct and she looks at me in confusion, blinking stupidly. "We're not in France anymore."
For once, I couldn't agree with her more. 'Cause, even though I only had one friend who just happened to be that girl who refused to speak to anyone but me and I had to speak in French the whole time, I was totally and completely happy there. And, even though I was all English, I had gotten used to all the 'now' words in France. I mean, learning that again? Such a total and utter drag. And I totally blame all of this on Mum. 'Cause, let's face it, if she hadn't been good at her job, she wouldn't have been transferred to London to see if she can 'make a difference there, too.' And, as one doctor can hardly change the whole world by moving, I'm guessing that mum's boss got kinda sick of her ordering him about, which is her thing, and I saw happening more than once. Dad, being the oh-so-cool stay at home House Husband, didn't mind in the slightest as long as he could take his computers with him. Rebecca put up the most fuss, before realising that she could speak English and leave straight for college once she arrived.
"I miss Cam," I sigh, referring to my best friend who I had to leave behind after Mum hauled us off to another country.
"God, she was so boring," Rebecca sniggers.
"Hey, she wasn't that bad!"
"Mollie, she explained to me how they made quills," Rebecca informs me before filling me on her 'amazing and cool' friends while towel drying my hair. It was so typical that Rebecca was the popular, pretty one who had naturally sleek, straight hair and had boys falling at her feet. Hot French boys, might I add. I, on the other hand, had had a grand total of one boyfriend – which was the boy I met on holiday who was an avid comic fan and always seemed to have a cold. It was gross, to say the least.
"Frizz-ease serum," Rebecca demands and I pick up the giant bottle of gooey liquid which I luckily found in Diagon Alley after all of the muggle products refused to work and pass it to Rebecca who nattering away as soon as she holds the bottle. "Do you know what I found in Tim's room the other day?"
"No! What?!" Okay, I admit, I love getting the gossip on my annoying, kid brother, who, even at thirteen, has girls with skirts barely covering their arses trailing helplessly after him in a feeble attempt at getting a date. I think that is even grosser than the whole 'snot-nosed' issue.
"Weights!" She reveals in a hushed whisper and I cackle along with her. To be honest, I was expecting something along the line of condoms but whatever. "As if that scrawny boy is going to buff up."
"Tim is rather stupid," I agree, causing the devil himself to poke his head into my room and grin goofily.
"Did you say my name?" he asks, leaning against the door frame.
"Get out of my room," I yell but, of course, he just grins wider.
"Hey, Mollie?" Tim says, looking particularly hard at me. "What's that on your neck?"
So, naturally, I scream. It was perfectly reasonable to scream.
I leap up and begin slapping myself around my neck in a vain attempt to remove it. Which, by the way, really, really hurt. "Getitoff, getitoff, getitoff!" I screech and Rebecca, who by this time has jumped onto the top of my bed in fear, suddenly freezes and fixes her death glare on Tim.
"There's nothing on you," she says darkly and Tim roars with laughter as I join in with Rebecca, glaring at him.
"My bad. It's just your face."
The little prick. The total and utter prick.
Which totally justifies what I do next; which is to begin hurling all things within my reach at his stupid, smug looking face. To be fair, I start off reasonably, throwing soft things like pillows and toys at him as he dances around the room but, when it becomes apparent that I can't hit him, I reach for the nearest hard object, which unfortunately for him ends up being the spoon that I had just finished eating my yoghurt with, and chuck it with all my force at his smarmy head.
And it is sort of like those movies, then, where everything slows down for a moment and you're thinking 'God damn it, why won't you duck?' But in this case, everyone who knows this twit, who looks particularly scared with his widened eyes and whatnot, is probably waiting eagerly for the spoon to hit him.
Which, you know, it totally does.
And with an incredibly satisfying 'clunk' that makes me not so discreetly smirk, might I add.
Two things happen next.
One, Tim drops to the floor, clutching his head in pain and, two, my mum enters the room, looks at Tim, looks at me, then yells bloody murder. But even though I continue to politely point out to mother 'dearest' that he started it, she folds her arms and gives me that dreaded 'Shut-Up-I-Know-It-Was-You' look, and promises to 'ground my sorry arse' as soon as I come back from Hogwarts. And, I swear, if you ask my opinion, I would say he totally should have ducked/moved out of the way before it hit him, like any normal person would.
But, the sad fact is, no one ever does. Ask my opinion, I mean. He gets spoons hurled at him a lot, actually. I'm not the first, and I hope to God I'm not the last.
Rebecca totally agrees with me on that.
But then again who, in their right mind, wouldn't?
I'm shaking. I'm totally and visibly shaking. And I'm talking about 'when you put your eyeliner on, you jam yourself in the eye a couple of times' shaking. Yeah, it's that bad.
'Cause, as much as I pretended to mum that I couldn't care less about going to Hogwarts, I was as nervous as hell. I mean, starting new schools isn't exactly the cherry on top of my cake, is it?
Even if Rebecca had totally schooled me on 'How to be Hot' and revamped my wardrobe and bought make-up and expensive toiletries on my mum's credit card without her finding out. Which, if you think about it, is rather dumb, seeing as we spent at least £300.
"Mollie, get your arse down here or you'll be late!" Mum calls and I dart out of the room dressed in my 'comfy' attire for the train journey: skinny jeans and a top which, according to Rebecca, is supposed to make my eyes 'pop.'
My family stands expectantly at the bottom of the stairs, everyone looking sleep deprived except my mum who is wide awake and bustling about as usual. "In the car, everybody!" she orders and marches to the car, probably expecting us to charge after her like soldiers or whatever. However, we all follow at a snail's pace, me lagging slightly behind with my massive trunk which Mum lifts easily and places into the boot.
Now, car journeys with my entire family are never the high point of the trips; somebody always ends up crying and for the last four years that person has been Tim, except once, when dad burst into tears because he thought he had run over a squirrel. Which, as everyone else knew from the beginning, he hadn't. It was, in fact, an abandoned tyre which mum promptly stole 'if we're ever one short.'
"God, Richard!" Mum screeches at Dad as he drives along. "You were meant to turn right a minute ago!"
"Helen, I've lived in London far longer than you have. I think I know where I'm going."
"Uh, dad?" Rebecca says timidly to the hunched figure that is my dad. "It says on the map that you were meant to turn right a minute ago." Then there was silence for a few minutes as dad seemed to contemplate his answer.
Another heavy silence as we all sit holding our breath.
"Dad!" I shriek. "We're going to be late!"
"God, Mollie, your voice is horrible," Tim pipes up and winces.
"Shut up, you little toe-rag!" I growl, elbowing him in the face as he grunts.
"Mum!" he whines.
"I'm not helping you, Tim, you broke my favourite mug."
"It was the cat!" Tim protests, looking aghast that mum is not defending the mother's boy.
"I saw you do it!" Mum replies sternly and glares at Tim. "You get him, Mollie."
"Eek!" Tim squeals as I give him a good whack in the face and a sharp kick in the knee.
"Mollie," Dad growls threateningly for possibly damaging the prized younger child. See, the middle child never gets the special treatment, the older and the younger do. I'm basically ignored.
"Mum!" I say, willing her to give me permission to continue beating him up.
"Richard," Mum pleas, giving him that gross lovey-dovey look.
"Ew," Rebecca says as all us children cringe.
"Get the hell off me, Tim!"
"Mollie, you started it!"
"Both of you shut the hell up," Mum barks, actually turning around in her seat to give us a dirty look which we immediately fall silent at. "Thank the Gods; we've arrived at the station. I couldn't stand another minute in this car with these children."
Oh, that's nice, isn't it?
"Uh... Helen? That's a shopping centre."
A/N; So, yeah, that's the first chapter. Good? Bad? Somewhere inbetween? Let me know what you think! xx
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